I have to wear a WHAT?
by more secrets
Summary: Total oneshot fluff. Severus and Minerva make a bet on which house will win the Quidditch Cup. Just who has to wear what to dinner? Major outofcharacter experience here.


_OK, this is a very long set-up for a very old, very tired joke. See the End Note for an explanation…Yes, everyone's pretty well out of character here. This is just a bit of fluff that I HOPE is harmless to all involved._

_Disclaimer: I don't own them, I am not them, I don't even play them on TV. More's the pity!_

* * *

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sighed to himself and dragged his attention back to the staff meeting he was supposed to be paying attention to. But really, how could anyone pay attention in such a dreadfully dull meeting? Just the same as every other Wednesday staff meeting they had had this year and every year for the past 5, nothing was ever settled. Nothing was ever brought to a resolution, decided, finished and banished into the "old business" heap. Could he be blamed if he spent his time trying to invent new potions in his head, while pasting a false, attentive look on his face? He glanced down at the agenda… _Oh, good, we've gotten all the way to Point 3, Chaperones for Upcoming Hogsmeade Weekend. What a thrill!_ Like a potion coming to a simmer in a cauldron, the ideas bubbled to the top of his brain. _What if I added a pinch more rosemary to that Calming Draught? Wonder if that would reduce the amount of potion needed for the same effect? Hmmm…_ He drifted off into a pleasant reverie, with a small part of his brain monitoring the boring meeting going on around him.

"Well, does anyone have any New Business?" Minerva McGonagall looked over her spectacles at the other faculty members in the room. "No? Well, I have one item. Severus?"

He twitched, recalled from his mental laboratory to the stuffy staff room. "Yes, Headmistress?"

"Severus, really, we need to reduce the gambling that's going on among the students. Why, I caught two of your 7th years taking wagers from the 3rd year Gryffindors on how many detentions the Ravenclaws would get in Herbology yesterday. Really, this must stop. This is not a casino, you realize."

"Were they really, Headmistress? My, isn't that enterprising of them. I suppose they might have been working on their Arithmancy homework?" He raised one eyebrow at Vector, but the old professor shook her head at him definitively. "No? Well, then, I'll speak to them and ask them to stop taking wagers. Will that do?"

Minerva sighed and shook her head. "I suppose it's a start, yes. But you will try to get them under control, won't you?"

"But of course, Headmistress." He listened for a moment to make sure that there was nothing else, then returned to his cogitation. Eventually, though, he was roused from his thinking by the sounds of the meeting breaking up around him. He gathered his robes about him and prepared to make his escape behind the rest of the faculty.

"Oh, Severus?"

Severus sighed, but didn't turn around to face her. _Now what?_ "Yes, Minerva?"

"You do know the last Quidditch game of the season is coming up this weekend, I trust?"

Severus turned to face McGonagall, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Yes, I do, and I have it on firm authority that my Slytherins will be cleaning the pitch with your Gryffindors."

"You may think that now, but I am sure that you'll be singing a very different tune Saturday night, my dear boy! I have it on even firmer authority that my Gryffindor's tactics are better than they've ever been, and they've got some new maneuvers that are guaranteed to leave your Snakes in their dust."

"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see who sings what tune on Saturday, won't we?"

"We could, of course, make it more interesting, if you'd like. A small wager on the outcome, perhaps?"

"We could." He thought for a moment. She needed a visible lesson in Slytherin superiority, but what to do? Hmmm…. Perhaps if she had to wear a Slytherin badge to dinner? Or even Slytherin Quidditch robes? Yes, something like that would do. "The loser wears an outfit selected by the winner to dinner on Saturday night. What do you think?" He held his breath, wondering if she would accept the wager, while she pondered.

"As long as it's decent, accepted. The loser wears an outfit selected by the winner to Saturday dinner. Now, what shall I have you wear? I shall have to give this some thought!"

"Now Minerva, don't waste your time. After all, I'm the one who will need to pick the outfit for you, not you for me." He smirked at her as they shook hands to seal the wager, and he swept out of the classroom trying to decide on what to make her wear. Obviously nothing demeaning, simply proclaiming that Slytherins were better than Gryffindors.

Thursday and Friday passed at a slow pace, with the students becoming more and more excited with each passing minute. Surely, the Slytherins all thought, this was their year to win the Quidditch Cup! All they needed to do was win this game by even 10 points, and the cup was theirs! Finally, Severus gave up all pretence of keeping order in the last Potions class of Friday afternoon – a double class of Slytherins and Gryffindors together, for Merlin's sake! – and dismissed them early. It just wasn't worth trying to keep them from arguing over which House team was better and which House team deserved the Cup most. Besides, he wanted to watch the last Slytherin practice that afternoon.

Saturday dawned warm and bright, and the entire school was buzzing with excitement over the rapidly-approaching end of the school year and over the upcoming game. Even the staff table was livelier than usual at breakfast that morning, and Severus noticed a mischievious twinkle in Minerva's eye. Merlin, does twinkling come with the job? She looks almost as bad as Dumbledore at his worst!

"So, Severus, are your Slytherins ready to lose gracefully this afternoon?"

He smirked at her over his tea, imagining how she would look in the Slytherin Quidditch robes he would have her wear to dinner the next night. "No, they're not at all ready to lose, because they're not **going** to lose. I'm sure that your Gryffindors will be gracious in defeat, however."

"If they needed to be, they would be, but of course it won't be necessary." She smiled back at him, and then waved encouragingly at the Gryffindor team's captain currently plowing his way through his breakfast.

Severus spent the morning marking papers, and realized as he graded the first one that the lowest grade he had assigned all day was a P. Really, he had to quit looking forward to silly things like winning this wager, or the reputation he had solidified over his long years of teaching would be gone before he could say 'Evanesco'! He stretched, feeling the vertebrae settle back to where they belonged, and went upstairs for lunch in the boisterous Great Hall.

All the students and faculty thronged down to the Quidditch pitch that afternoon, nearly three-fourths of the students wearing red and gold. The last fourth of the students were decked out in green and silver and were making nearly as much noise as the rest of the school put together. The game finally began on Madam Hooch's whistle, and Severus squinted into the sunlight as he watched the spirited game. The goals were scored so fast that the magical scoreboard could barely keep up with them, and as the game went on the fouls came faster and faster. The noise from the students in the stands around the pitch was so loud that hardly anyone could hear the commentary, and even Severus's sharp ears only picked out about half the words. Finally he saw the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seekers go into a side-by-side, racing drive, and it was clear that they had spotted the Snitch. Down, down, and down they sped, both stretching to the utmost to reach the Snitch, and Severus leaned forward intently as if by doing so he could help his Seeker get the gleaming gold sphere. Just shy of the last possible moment, just before both flyers would have had to pull out of their dive to avoid crashing face-first into the pitch, a hand closed around the Snitch. But whose hand?

The Seekers regained even flight, and Severus's heart leapt to see the Snitch grasped by a hand coming out of a green-and-silver sleeve. Yes! Slytherin wins! But the roar from the students was deafening, far too loud for only Slytherin to be celebrating, and his heart sank to the very bottom of his boots when he saw the scoreboard. The Slytherin Seeker might have gotten the Snitch, but the stupid fool had gotten it while Gryffindor were 160 points ahead! Gryffindor – and Minerva – had won.

He sank back to his seat and sat, slumped, as the stands emptied around him and the exultant students finally made their way back to the castle. He sat there, not moving, until he heard a pair of high-heeled shoes making their way along the walkway and stopping in front of him.

"Well, Severus, it was a well-played game, but I'm afraid your Slytherins just weren't up to the challenge. You do remember our wager, don't you?"

"I remember. Don't worry, I'll live up to it. So what am I to wear?"

"I've taken the liberty of having the house-elves deliver it to your quarters already. I'll see you at dinner, then."

He trudged back to the castle dispiritedly. When would he ever learn? Surely he had had enough experience with things like this before, and should have known better than to make such a wager. And what would Minerva have selected for him? Finally he reached his dungeon quarters, and found a suspicious-looking garment bag lying on his bed with a thick folded parchment on top. _Hmm, what is this?_ He unfolded it and read the title in disbelief.

'How to Wear the …' _What? No, maybe it's a joke_. But when he unzipped the garment bag, his worst fears were confirmed. _No. No, I won't. There is just NO way I'll do it_.

He whirled to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into it. "Minerva McGonagall's chambers!" he grated, and stuck his head through the flames.

"Yes, Severus? Did you have a question?"

"Minerva, I can't. I won't. It's absolutely ridiculous."

"Now, my dear boy, we did make a wager on this. Are you trying to tell me you won't live up to the terms of our wager?"

"Of course not, but we did agree it would be nothing demeaning. How on earth can you expect me to wear that – that – that THING?"

"Why do you think it will be demeaning? What on earth is wrong with it?"

"But, it's a, it's a – "

"Yes, I know. And don't bother trying to transfigure it, it's made to resist all charms and spells you put on it, so you'll have to wear it. Quite frankly, I think you'll look very dashing in that outfit. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd like to get ready for dinner myself."

McGonagall reached out and patted Severus's cheek, and he found himself being almost pushed backwards out of the fireplace into his own rooms. What's that old saying about immovable objects and irresistible forces? He sighed, got back to his feet, and returned to glare at the outfit on the foot of his bed. There really was no choice, was there? He might as well start getting dressed.

He pulled off his outer robes, his frock coat, his white shirt, his boots, and finally his wool trousers, feeling a pang at taking off all his layers as he looked at what he was supposed to wear to dinner. How on earth could he face this? _Right, shirt on first, with the cufflinks and studs and, Merlin, is that a **bow tie**? Now wrap there, buckle there and there and there. Now the belt, and then that goes like that, does it? OK, that's done. Now what on earth are – Oh, right, those go there. Now the shoes; how on earth do people stand to wear these, laced up like this? Jacket on, and adjust the cuffs. Drape that, pin it at the shoulder… is that it?_ He felt around in the garment bag, and yanked his hand out wincing at the pin stuck in one finger. _Now where does – oh, good, that won't do much but it'll help_. He secured the pin and stood back to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Yes, according to the handy diagram Minerva had sent him, he'd dressed himself properly. "If you can call it being dressed properly in this!" he snorted.

Severus turned his back on the mirror hanging on his armoire door without even looking at it and stalked across his room to the doorway. Halfway there, he realized just how much he missed the billow of his usual robes. _How on earth am I going to get through this? No billowing robes, and I'm not even wearing black! White and red and green; well, all right, the jacket is black, but it's not even a proper jacket. It only comes down to my waist._ He stopped, inside the door, and drew a deep breath. The longer he waited, the longer it took for him to convince himself to brave the corridors, the more attention he'd get when he did show up in the Great Hall for dinner. _Might as well just do it and get it over with. It's only once_.

As he mounted the stairs from the dungeons towards the ground level and the Great Hall, he realized that although his clothing didn't billow, there were still some interesting effects he could achieve with what he was wearing if he walked properly. Once he reached the next-to-last landing, he stood up even straighter than normal, stretching for every inch of his 6 feet, and stiffened his gait even further than normal. _Yes, that will do it. I may look like an idiot, but by Merlin I'll look like a PROUD idiot walking up the length of that room_. As he realized just how long a march he would have to make to get to the head table, his will began to desert him, and he slumped momentarily. _No, I can do this. If I could spy on both sides during the last war and be a quadruple agent, I can do this._

Finally Severus reached the ground floor and quailed again when the noise level in the Great Hall told him that all the students were there for dinner tonight. Had Minerva told them? Certainly if she'd told a Gryffindor what she'd made Severus wear tonight, the whole school would know within minutes. _But she wouldn't do that, would she?_ He pulled open the nearest door and winced as the chatter of so many students cascaded out around him. He walked silently into the hall and began advancing on the head table, more nervous making this long march than he had been at any time since first entering the Great Hall as a small 10-year-old boy, so many years ago. The first students noticed him and fell silent in amazement, although the wave of silence that preceded him up the room was followed by a wave of whispers and murmurs and exclamations. He could hear it following him up the long, long room. "Is that Professor SNAPE?" "Is he wearing a –" "Do you suppose he's finally lost it?" The whole way down the hall, he didn't look to either side, simply kept his gaze on the wall above Minerva's head, and maintained his stiff, rhythmic gait. _No, it doesn't quite billow, but it's close enough for now._

Finally, finally, he reached the head table, and made his way around it to sink into his chair beside Minerva. She beamed at him as he sat down, and the noise in the hall rose to a level he had never heard it reach before.

"So tell me, Severus, what **is** worn beneath a kilt?"

He sighed. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon._ "Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all, it's all in pairfect wurrrking orrrdair!"

* * *

_End Note: Grooooaaaan. Yeah, I know, it's an oldie. Sorry, this is what happens when I have too much caffeine, spend the whole night pleating and finishing my own kilt in order to have it ready for a Scottish Country Dance demonstration, and then remember having seen a picture of Alan Rickman in a kilt._

_The outfit I picture Severus wearing is a fancy-dress kilt outfit, with a dress shirt with studs and cufflinks, a Prince Charlie jacket, a dress kilt with belt and sporran, socks with flashes, ghillie shoes that lace up the front, and a plaid to drape over his left shoulder. For an example, see www dot stkildaretail dot co dot uk slash prince underscore charlie underscore outfits slash premium underscore prince underscore charlie underscore with underscore fly underscore plaid dot html . His tartan, however, is Dress Stewart (white ground, red and green plaid with small white, black, and yellow stripes in it)._

_Quitefrankly, any man who has the courage to wear a kilt looks splendid in it. It doesn't matter the body type, or size, or shape, if they're brave enough to wear it they look like a million dollars. And if you ever watch someone either strut or dance in a kilt, you'll realize just how hypnotic and "interesting" the sway of the pleats can be. Oh me oh my!_


End file.
